


two steps on the water

by LightningRidgeBlackOpal



Series: Untitled Infernal AU [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 2nd Person, College AU, Demon!Shane's POV, Frathouse Demon AU, M/M, Multi, Religious themes and imagery, Sequel, Trauma, Unprotected Sex, Untitled Infernal AU, emotional detachment, referenced character death, references to blood and violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 10:10:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20241130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningRidgeBlackOpal/pseuds/LightningRidgeBlackOpal
Summary: You begin, and you forge yourself in the fires, and you stretch your magic out in a great net and you do as you are told.For a time.





	two steps on the water

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! There's a sequel to 'oh, try to break me down' now. The prologue takes place in the past (italics) and during the events of the beginning of the previous story. Chapter one takes place a few hours after the end of the previous story.
> 
> This installment is from Demon!Shane's point of view and is written in Second Person.

_Oh here I go _  
_Don't let me go_  
_Hold me down_  
_It's coming for me through the trees_  
_Help me darling_  
_Help me please_

**0\. from nothing real**

_You begin, and the feeling of the hot blood coursing through you makes you shiver even in the blistering heat. Then, you can’t feel it anymore. The conflagration around you. A singing choir of mournful wailing. You stretch your limbs and you test this shape and it all feels familiar somehow, like you’ve done it before._

_“Name?” a hulking figure demands. You pause._

_Your eyes see a line of monstrous figures. A hall of mirrors. A kaleidoscoping haze of colour and shimmering magic in the air. What are you to be? What are you to do? A wriggling worm of a thought dances cloyingly. You grasp at it; you gasp and cough with your first breaths; you feel the burn of smoke only briefly before it too is numbed. The thought bursts forth. “Shane,” you say. It is inconsequential. It is disarming, you are disarming, you think, you feel, you believe. You begin, and you forge yourself in the fires, and you stretch your magic out in a great net and you do as you are told._

_For a time._

*

_In the human world, you think, things are immeasurably different. The colours are more saturated and full and the noises are all harmonic instead of discordant. While you are here, in this skin, things have flavour and every shade and pattern sing to you._

_The first time you see art you are arrested; stuck still much like the figures rendered by someone long dead, it seems to dance in your eyes._

_These eyes are brown, and dark. Your eyes are darker, usually. But this skin is fine, it suits you. This shape is pleasing and its hands can touch and feel and its tongue can taste. So you taste. So you listen and you touch and you feed on all of it hungrily. This world, you think, is much more interesting._

_Home, Hell, the colours are dull and lifeless and the winds never smell like fresh baked bread, and eventually the drifting ash is eclipsed in your favour with driving snows. Chicago is a beautiful, crowded, troubled city. You spend a few years there, draining it of pleasure, until the skyline is as dull and flat as in Hell and the people no longer draw you in and around. You stand awkwardly on the sidewalk, staring across and through and into the warm, open, golden house before you. It is a house of someone you have never met, a house of someone whose immeasurable weight bears down on you; a house full of enemies. You move to step off the curb and a hand grabs you by the arm._

_“Mighty big mistake there, child. You do not want to go in there. Trust me.” The old man winks in your direction and when he opens his eye you see the pitch black for just a second. His accent is not from this part of the human world. “You can call me Astor,” he says._

_“Shane,” you reply. Occasionally you can see behind his mask, can see the shimmering glamour and behind it his enormity. You get the feeling that he may be allowing you to see it._

_“Well, do not go wandering into any of those, alright? I know they are appealing but it is the end of the line for people like us.”_

_You shrug, but have no reason to argue._

*

You get the feeling that things have snowballed out of control. In fact, you only spent five minutes (earth minutes; human time is so much quicker) in the dark basement before you realized that you were standing at a crossroads. You weighed your options until you became distracted by something making its way toward the basement stairs.

The boys in the circle turn to the door and you look with them. The door opens, and the light is blinding, and silhouetted there, coming down the stairs is a star come to earth; haloed in light; something so beautiful you are arrested all over again.

You suppose you can stay for a while, and after everyone leaves you stay right there, eyes affixed on the beautiful creature; heavenly creature; a human unlike any you've seen.

He looks right at you, though you cannot be seen. His fear smells like citrus.

*

_“Let me take you out,” Astor says. You raise your shoulders because you do not care. So you follow him to a bar, and when he hands you a glass of whiskey you toss it back and cough against the burn. He laughs, clapping one of his big hands across your shoulders. “Easy, boy. You aren’t immune to everything.” You catch your breath and look up into his face; into his face behind his face. He orders two more._

*

You get bored, waiting for him to come back down the stairs, so you fill your time by messing about with the junk down in the basement. It only takes a single load of laundry in the dryer before the rhythmic thunking of it is bothersome, so once it’s empty you fix it.

You get restless, pacing around, and then you get more restless. You start trying to draw attention, trying to draw them down. You hear them in the hallway, a few of the fools, hear the footsteps upstairs, and then you hear his voice again. And so you feel emboldened.

You make your way up and the middle stair creaks under your weight; you make a note to fix that later. In front of the door you hesitate. Should you show yourself? Should you be so bold? Or should you be even bolder? You ponder it a bit too long and when the door starts creaking open you curse yourself and try to hide. You’re almost distracted by the sight of his face; the way his eyes are locked straight on yours; the bright aura around him; he’s afraid but you find it charming. He says, “fuck that,” and then he leaves.

You leave as well, for a while. You have business to attend to.

*

_You drink a lot with him, and you move to leave but he grabs your arm. “Another warning, kid. There are some of us out there who have no loyalty. Not every familiar face is a friendly face.”_

_It is inconsequential. You feel no loyalty to anything; you feel no fear of anything; you feel very little, it turns out, in general._

*

you sit at a desk for far too many hours and then you feel the itch under your skin. the feeling that you have somewhere to be. you stand up and walk away without a word. on your way out the door, you feel the wrenching sense of being summoned and appear in a stuffy office. a posh, stuffy man sits across a desk.

“shane, is it?” he asks. you nod, he knows that already, because he is the one who summoned you. “care to tell me where you are going?”

“taking a vacation,” you say, “heading back to the mortal world. got some stuff to take care of.”

he doesn’t seem amused. his eyes are wicked. bozxzoth is a wicked man, even for a demon, and you gain discomfort every second in this room. “right well, a vacation is certainly rare. you’ll have to fill out some-”

“whatever. i’ll fill it out when i get back,” you say. you do not know if you want to come back at all, you do not know if you have a choice.

*

When you get back to the basement of the house, curiosity is itching beneath your skin. You notice that the summoning circle has been cleaned up. They think that they are done with you, and this is already infinitely more amusing than what you’re supposed to be doing in Hell. The door at the top of the stairs opens, and you watch enraptured as he descends them. He tosses his laundry in, and you feel impulsive. You put the candles back where they belong; you remind him that you are here; you can feel his anticipation mounting even before he notices them. His emotions are so strong, so bright, it is difficult not to imagine that you can feel them too.

He turns, and his fear sings bright and loud enough that you can close your eyes and still see the outline of him clear as day. There is a noise elsewhere, a normal everyday noise, but in the suspended moment it sounds enormous and it sends him fleeing from the room, taking all the warmth and magic with him and leaving you there in the dark alone.

He doesn’t return, sends someone else down to put his clothes in the dryer, and when no one comes back for those you decide to be kind. So you grab the basket that he left sitting on the floor and you pile his stuff into it and in your presence it warms back up. It must be early morning, just before dawn. You appear in his room and you watch him sleep for a while, and just as it seems like he’s going to wake up you set his clothes down in front of his door and head back to the basement.

He doesn’t return for a while, and you finally fix that middle step, and you wait patiently for as long as you can.

*

_Chicago becomes boring. Then so does Boise. And Kansas City. And Taos. Seattle is fun for a while; Capitol Hill and the wild parties, the people boisterous and loud and colourful. Freedom, the water, the sea salt; the forests. There’s a lot there. A lot of people catch your attention._

_You settle there for a while, and you gather up hatred and you gather up sorrow and you gather up envy and malice. You take all of it in and then you allow it to purge itself from your body; released back into the air like pollen._

_You meet a young woman while she bleeds out in an alley. She looks to you for help, reaches out to you even while your eyes slip black. There’s no fear in her. You reach back, take her hand and fix her up as best as you can. You push gently at her soul where it starts to slip out and you stop the bleeding._

_Her hair is buzzed short. It feels soft beneath your hands as you touch it. If she hadn’t lost so much blood already she might have blushed. As it is, she smiles. “No dying for you today,” you say._

_You leave her daisies in her hospital room and leave Seattle._

_New York is too crowded. It makes you think about small spaces and empty places and you shake it off behind you. Maine. Rhode Island. None of it matters to you at all._

_Seattle again._

*

You’re back in the basement but the basement has ceased to amuse you. So you head upstairs and you wander around, thinking that you’re alone in the house. You look around in the kitchen, eye a cupboard door that’s hanging loose and toy with it for a moment before heading back toward the hallway. You suddenly become aware of something in your net; a fly alone with a spider, until you recognize the door. He is home, and here you are, right outside. He is afraid. You wish you could put him at ease, but you don’t know how. You knock three times and open the door. He follows you out, eyes straight on your eyes but through them. You head back into the basement and feel him following. You knock again, different door.

He is fascinating. He feels fear so deeply but just shoves it aside. His heart is steel. Footsteps on the stairs. He opens the door. He runs.

*

_You catch a familiar scent on the wind and follow the energy toward downtown. You glide silvery through the fabric of the universe and you stop to find a familiar man; still huge and imposing, Astor behind the familiar mask. His claws are buried in someone, the hot copper smell of blood singing in your nose. He devours them, swallowing their soul like swallowing swords. He turns when he notices you and your eyes narrow when you see the body in his arms._

_You look at Astor’s grin, and you learn that the one thing you can feel is fury._

*

Some strangers appear after he flees and you shadow one closely; posturing around him; oppression in every bit of your intent. He’s ignoring it at first, but grows more and more restless. Once he admits fear to his partner you slide right in; his skin doesn’t fit as well as yours does but it is fine. In his skin, you can feel it all; all of it huge and bright and horrible; the gamut of everything.

You follow the other man, wearing his partner’s skin until he goes to leave. Then, the guy comes back. He is panting, no longer afraid but weary. The man next to you says, “What the hell?”

He speaks, and you hear his voice through human ears and you can truly see him for the first time. “I called you guys. There was someone walking around and knocking on doors,” he says and the guy who spoke gives him an odd look.

“There wasn’t anyone in there, kid,” he says. You use the human's eyes to make eye contact, and you nod the human's head. and as he heads back inside the house you leave the skin and head back to the basement.

*

_You turn to walk away from Astor's remains when chains grab you from below and drag you straight down into headquarters._

_you try to strain against the thorns in your hands but it does no good._

**"what the fuck are you thinking?"** _the shadow asks. at last, one of your kind that makes you feel something; at last a real feeling in Hell; fear like a bird in your chest._ **“you must be new here or something, kid, but we don’t usually kill our own kind.”**

_you can’t lie here. you know that. you say, “he wasn’t anything like me,” and the shadow laughs._

**“i’ll keep my eyes on you, shane.”**

*

People arrive, and then someone else arrives. She is a conduit, a medium, she will flush you out and you decide it must be time to make your entrance proper. They come down the stairs and you cut the lights and people jump and it almost makes you happy.

She draws you out, and at once you are there in the flesh, in your skin, with your horns on display. You greet them.

“More like what do _you_ want,” you say, “you buffoons summoned me.” You watch them all turn to you in shock. You sit on their couch and you enjoy the attention. It feels good to be seen again. You look directly at the guy, the one who has caught your attention, and you wink. You raise a cigarette to your lips and it lights; you say, “sorry about the cigarettes, the smoke reminds me of home.”

*

_You hope you can feel something other than fear and anger, some time. You stare longingly into the open doors of a church and you hope that you are even capable of feeling at all._

*

You enjoy the burn of the whiskey because it is familiar. You let yourself get drunk with it; allow the flesh to enjoy the liquor. Eventually, you are drunk and brave and you look at the beautiful creature and you wink. You speak, you can feel a gravity already, he feels like North if you are a compass; he feels like South if you are a bird. The bird in your chest aims itself at him, and you draw him closer by some miracle.

“My mom told me not to talk to demons,” the guy quips and you show your teeth.

“I think she said strangers, but fair enough. I’m Shane,” you say.

“Ryan,” he says and you grin again. “Ryan,” you repeat, because it feels sweet in your mouth and it burns like the liquor. “Well it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ryan,” you say.

You think, as he withdraws and retreats and disappears back upstairs and you’re forced to instead entertain his friends; you think about his name and you think about his eyes and you think about the funny thing in your chest. You think about how he feels cool and refreshing in the way humans talk about swimming in lakes in summertime. He feels dangerous, like heat lightning in your hands. He carries the ozone smell of magic.

You think about him the rest of the night, and in the morning you realize that you can feel things. It only lasts a minute, the feeling of the air in the basement and the smell of it and the barest hints of pain in your head from the whiskey and the feeling of the fabric of the couch underneath you. Then, just like Ryan, the feeling is gone. You find that you miss it.

*

_You get an odd feeling, like something important is about to happen. Like the sun is about to rise over the mountains and you’ve been waiting all night. You get a feeling like someone is calling your name._

  


**1\. found a fox caught by dogs**

  


He's standing by the water when you find him. This will never be your strong suit, but you do your best to comfort him. His aura is dim, a flickering candle at a vigil, and he hardly even registers your presence.

Grief is something you have not yet become acquainted with. If Ryan is any indication, grief is a sad old dog curled up at your feet and an unwillingness to move them for fear of disturbing it. "I'm so sorry," you say, but it rings hollow in your ears. You don't know what to do. This is so far out of your element that you imagine yourself to be drowning. The sun set a long time ago. The winds are rising, bustling busily around you. The sea rushes in and out.

“I know,” he says. “God, I never wanted any of this.” You can smell the salt in the air. You can smell the salt in his tears. You know what he means. He finally turns to face you, clutching white paper in his hands. It’s folded up small, and his lips wobble but twist up at the corners as he lets go of it and lets it drift away; the wind carries it out until it lands in the water. The tides will swallow it soon, whatever it is. You wish the tides could swallow up his sadness just as quick.

“What do you want to do?” you ask him, because you certainly don’t know. He shrugs his shoulders. He walks closer to you and you feel him like static electricity. You wrap your arms around him and hold him close enough that you feel his heart pounding on your chest.

“I can’t go back to the house right now,” he says into your shoulder. That’s fine, okay, no problem. You stayed for him, not the house. You will follow him anywhere. “I need my stuff though.”

“Make me a list. I’ll get your stuff and meet you wherever you want to go.” You can feel him smile, but it’s still too small. You don’t understand this dynamic but you want to do anything you can to bring his smile back.

*

The house is dark, but when you walk out of the basement and into the living room you see Gabe on the couch, a man there with him; he has dark hair and dark eyes and Gabe’s head is in his lap. “Where’s Ryan?” Gabe asks.

“He says he can’t be here tonight. Sent me for some stuff. Who’s your friend?” you reply, while Gabe sits up proper and stretches out. You can hear his joints popping angrily.

The stranger rises from the couch and approaches you, his hand outstretched. You take it and shake, and he says, “Jacob. You must be Shane.” You laugh, but softly. This isn’t the time for boisterousness.

“I see my reputation precedes me. Anyway, I’d better…” you say, trailing off and jerking your thumb toward Ryan’s room. They both nod, and you excuse yourself. The atmosphere is dense, every corner of the house filled with sorrow like dust in the sunlight.

You stand for a moment in Ryan’s room. 

*

_You stretch out your bones, you test the arms and the legs, you let your net stretch wide and you sit still until something calls you._

_A man standing on a bridge, gazing out at the water below. His eyes are longing; his heart is already falling. “What are you doing?” you ask, as if you don’t know. He startles, turns to look at you._

*

You materialize inside a room, somewhere you’ve never seen. You look out the window and see the skyline; the room is up high. There’s a big bed in the middle and tasteful decor and a small chocolate on each pillow, so you eat both. The shower is running. You walk into the bathroom and Ryan’s face peeks out from behind the curtain. He looks exhausted, wrung out. “I’ll just be a minute,” he says, “unless you want to join me.” You do. You always do, always will. You want to be near him so much that you fear the want will devour you. You fear losing control.

The clothing burns off of you and you step into the hot water and you sigh while he presses against your back and massages your shoulders. You should be massaging him, you think, should be the one caring for him and he should be the one cared for but he continues on until you can feel him hard against your ass. “Are you sure?” you ask. You don’t know why.

“Yes,” he says. “I need something else to focus on.” His lips press against your back, your shoulder blade. Your skin. You feel it burning, feel the burning marks and then his teeth digging in where your shoulder meets your neck. His soapy hands cup your ass, rubbing around gently and massaging every part of you. It makes you shiver and he smiles against your skin. Your skin. He lowers himself to his knees, kissing one cheek and then biting it, teasing, a tease of teeth. Your eyes shut tight. His tongue toys at you, laps against your hole and you bite out a series of curses. These things, all of these things are burning at every point of contact; his ten fingers spreading you open and the tip of his tongue. You’re shaking.

He stays there so long that by the time he finishes you’re flushed from cheek to chest; your shoulders stained red; your legs quivering; your dick flushed and leaking. He stands and you feel the absence until he nudges at your knees so you bend them and have to press your hands into the tile so hard you fear it might crack.

“You ready for this?” he asks. You can’t speak. You nod. He must have been watching, because he leads you to bend your knees more and his dick is pressing against your asshole; your claws tear through the flesh of your fingers while you moan. He pushes forward until he bottoms out and his hands run along your arms until he’s tracing the sharp lines of your claws against the stark white of the shower wall. You fight to put them away because otherwise you will, without question, cut into the tile.

“You like it, Shane?” he asks. You nod again, but he doesn’t move a muscle and just sits bottomed out inside you until you manage to say, “fuck, yes, Ryan,” around the copper taste of your fangs erupting from your gums.

He starts to move.

*

_The man chuckles, nervously. “It’s not what it looks like,” he says._

_You shrug. “Why not?”_

*

“Jesus!” you shout, and it burns and sizzles at the inside of your mouth. You can smell the burning meat of it for a second before it heals over and you’re overwhelmed by Ryan pushing deeper and deeper.

*

_He looks confused, until he doesn’t. You lean against the railing, on the sidewalk side, and he straddles the rail for a while before climbing over and stepping down to stand with you. “It’s a nice night,” you say. He shrugs._

_“You’re not going to try to talk me out of it?” he asks._

_You don’t answer._

*

You think, in a split second, of all of the decisions you’ve ever made in your existence. They flash before your closed eyes; everything that led you here. You’d stay in this shower if it started pouring holy water on you.

“Fuck,” Ryan says, and you echo him. He’s speeding up and the rhythm of it is a drumming song; it’s echoing in your ears. You moan, and fall over the edge.

*

_“I don’t think I’m supposed to save you,” you say. The guy just laughs. “But out of curiosity, why are you going to jump?” His laughter stops. He’s quiet for a long time. _

_“I’m just tired of hearing it call to me,” he says, “I’m tired of thinking about it.”_

_“The French have a term for this, you know,” you say. You do not know how you know this, but it occurs to you and so you say it. “L’appel du vide. The call of the void.” You do not think this will help._

_You walk away._

*

The bed is soft, and you sit on it while Ryan ruffs the towel through his hair. He drops it and climbs onto the bed, laying down across it with his head in your lap. He sighs and seems content. His light is glimmering, shining a bit brighter.

You plan to stay awake, to watch over him. But listening to his even breaths, like a chant of _I’m still alive I’m still alive_, eventually draws you in. You fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Title, opening lyrics, and chapter titles from Hounds of Love by Kate Bush. Listen to that album, seriously.


End file.
